


Geography Lesson

by lamardeuse



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-14
Updated: 2010-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only after they became lovers that Chicago started shrinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Geography Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> Written for due South Flashfiction on Livejournal (threesomes challenge).

 

It was only after they became lovers that Chicago started shrinking.

Flooding from the lake they call Michigan was not, in fact, the cause for this, nor was any form of fire caused by recalcitrant cows or performance arsonists. No, it was the fact that now, Ray had an obvious reason to remember--and avoid--the peculiar geography of his quarter-century history with Stella.

When Fraser suggested a particular Italian restaurant once recommended to him by Ray Vecchio the Elder, Ray averted his gaze, then shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Ah, well, see, I don't know, Frase. I been to Luna Maris before."

"And you object to the menu?"

"Naw."

"You found the service slow or rude?"

"Naw, naw, it ain't none of that. See, that's the restaurant where me and Stella--that is, where Stella served me with the divorce papers." His mouth quirked, thinly veiling a gaping wound. "At least she waited 'til after the cannoli. It was real good."

"Ah. I understand, Ray. I'm sorry to have brought up painful memories."

"No problem. I know a great place in Cicero--"

And that had been the end of it for another couple of weeks. But Fraser being Fraser, he could not fail to notice an eventual escalation in such incidents. There were other restaurants, of course, but there was a gradual addition of other establishments that should not have conjured such romantic memories. Bookstores. Gas stations. Drycleaners. Given the length of their association and their differing class backgrounds, it was hardly an intuitive leap to imagine that Ray and Stella may well have covered a great deal of urban territory together. Soon, the only untouched place remaining might be the Consulate, and even that could one day be declared off-limits if Ray suddenly remembered a blissful honeymoon trip to Niagara Falls or Banff.

Still, the shrinking of Chicago had no significance for anyone other than himself, and perhaps Ray, though the other man seemed unaware of his pattern of behaviour.

Until the afternoon when the call came through to support two officers in pursuit of a robbery suspect.

Ray responded to the call in his usual efficient fashion, then took the siren Fraser handed to him and stuck it on the roof of the GTO. A squeal of tires, a sickening lurch, and they were off--

\--in the wrong direction.

"Ray," Fraser began calmly, "I believe we're headed in the wrong direction."

"Not wrong, Frase, not wrong, just different."

"But Dearborn is a much faster--"

Ray's long fingers gripped the wheel with bruising force. "Let's take a snap poll. Who in this car has been living in this city their whole, entire lives?" One hand unclenched and raised jerkily in the air, then descended. "Who in this car has been living in the middle of North Weaselhumper for all but the last three years?"

He shot a meaningful glance at Fraser.

Fraser sighed and raised a hand.

"There you have it, ladies and gents. The poll tells all."

Another skidding turn, and Fraser was jammed against the side window. Turning his head, he looked down the street they were avoiding, and saw--

\--a bank.

_The_ bank, no doubt.

"Lord," Fraser murmured, brushing an index finger against his eyebrow.

Ray either ignored him or didn't hear him.

  


 

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

 

Perhaps he shouldn't be doing this, he thought for the dozenth time.

Behind him, Dief gave a brief, sharp whuff.

"How could you possibly know it was fourteen--"

The apartment door swung wide and Ray stood before him, looking--

\--God, he looked wonderful. As always.

This would be more difficult than he had imagined. But still, duty was duty.

"You gonna stand there all night?"

"Uh," Fraser said. "That is, no."

He propelled himself forward, into the apartment. Ray shut the door behind him, but instead of delivering the customary kiss or kiss-and-hug or kiss-and-grope that had been their mainstay for the past couple of months, Ray hung back, out of Fraser's space.

It reminded Fraser that Ray could make him feel naked and exposed without removing one article of his clothing. The thought both terrified and exhilarated him.

"Okay. What's up?"

Fraser took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I believe you know."

Ray tensed even further, if that was possible. "So what? We got there in time. We helped arrest the suspect. It wasn't like the guy had a gun or nothin'--"

"I know, Ray. It wasn't a life threatening situation. But what about the next time?"

"You think I would--what the hell would you call it in Canada--shirk my duty? Is that what you're scared of?"

_No. I'm scared you can't love me as much as you did her._

"Ray," he said instead. Perhaps if he spoke quietly enough--"You already did shirk your duty."

"So what, exactly, do you propose I do about it?" Ray countered, almost as quietly.

Relief coursed through Fraser. Ray was going to be reasonable, allowing them to approach this from a logical perspective. "I'm glad you asked that," he said brightly, reaching into his pocket and retrieving the piece of paper he'd been working on for more than a week. "I've been studying your behaviour for some time now, and I believe I have found a correlation between certain sites and--"

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a map of Chicago." He walked over to the kitchen table, unfolded the paper carefully and spread it out, his hands smoothing the creases. "Allow me to explain the legend. The red lines indicate the zones of greatest avoidance, while the orange and yellow--well, I'm quite proud of this particular--"

"Goddammit! What is it with you?" Ray thrust himself forward, until his enraged face was no more than an inch from Fraser's astonished one. Then he spun away again, like a satellite breaking out of orbit. "You and I have been doin' the horizontal tango for what--eight weeks now?"

Fraser remembered how sometimes it was vertical and diagonal and-- "Nine weeks, three days," he amended.

"Fine. And I been gettin' weirder and weirder, which you have obviously been noticing--" he stabbed a vicious finger in the direction of the map "--but have been saying nothing about, even though it's been messing up everything we try to do together."

"Not everything," protested Fraser. "Well, not until recently--"

"And then, just when I think okay, be cool, Fraser's gotta notice, right, and he's going to rescue me here. But the only way I get your attention is when I fuck up on the job." He spread his hands. "Is that all this is to you?"

Fraser was still processing Ray's words. "You thought I was going to rescue you?" he squeaked.

Ray bounced on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, handsome prince. You do that all the damned time, with everybody else." He laughed bitterly. "You think _I_ know how to fix me, fix this? It's like she's been fucking haunting me since--since--"

"--since nine weeks and three days ago."

"Just about. And do I get swingin' in on vines, or a white horse, or even a goddamned kick in the head? No, I do not. I get--a goddamned _map._"

Fraser closed his eyes. "It's--ah--it's all I know how to do, Ray."

_It's all _I _am._

"Bullshit."

The epithet was as soft as an endearment, and came from about ten inches away. Fraser opened his eyes.

"You know ten times more than I'll ever know, and I'm not just talkin' about memorizing Milton here. You know how people should be to each other, Frase, how you should go to the ends of the Earth for a stranger, even, if that's what they need, because it's our duty, not just as cops but as human beings. And I guess I thought--" He trailed off and looked away.

Fraser sucked in a breath. "You thought you were entitled to the same courtesy as a stranger. That you were entitled to be rescued, because that's what you needed."

"Yeah," Ray said hoarsely. "Stupid, huh?"

"No, not at all," Fraser said, his throat suddenly tight. "Because you rescued me when I needed it."

Ray's gaze snapped back to Fraser's face. Slowly, Fraser lifted a hand to stroke over the rough stubble of Ray's cheek.

"The, ah, the only problem is," Fraser murmured, "I'm not sure which horse to use for this particular--job."

"What about the vines?" Ray asked, one side of his mouth quirking.

"Oh, impossible, I'm afraid. I lent those to Tarzan, and he won't be done with them for at least another week."

"Freak," Ray muttered affectionately.

"So will you help me to pick out an appropriate--steed?"

"Yeah," Ray said. "I got a black beauty out front, and first thing we do, we're ridin' that baby straight to Luna Maris."

"Are you sure?" Fraser said.

"Yeah," Ray said again, closing the distance between them to bestow a sweet, gentle kiss.

The kiss of a prince.

Before the other man could pull away, Fraser wrapped his arms around him and enfolded him in a tight, almost desperate embrace. "I love you, Ray," he whispered.

"That's what I'm talking about," Ray said, brushing his lips over Fraser's ear. "Next time you talk to Tarzan, tell him he can keep his fuckin' vines." He drew back to meet Fraser's clouded gaze.

"We'll rescue each other, okay?"

Fraser nodded, eyes squeezed shut. "Okay."

And that night, Chicago grew a little bigger again.  


 

**Author's Note:**

> First published May 2003.


End file.
